Shifts
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: In which they both fall until there's no turning back.:: RegulusBarty, as told through snapshots.


_Word Count: 2106_

* * *

i.

"It's Crouch, isn't it?"

Barty's stomach ties itself into hundreds of painful knots when he hears the cool, calm voice. A cold sweat beads his forehead when he looks up and recognizes Regulus Black standing before him. The Blacks are basically royalty, and he can't imagine how someone like Regulus might know his name.

Silently, he nods. "B-but, you can call me Barty, if you'd like."

"Barty," Regulus echoes, and Barty loves the way his name sounds on the Slytherin's tongue. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed? What would Daddy Dearest say about his ickle golden boy being out of bed after curfew?"

Barty's jaw tenses. He scowls. "I'm hardly my z zdafather's _golden boy,_" he says sharply.

Regulus' lips quirk into a smirk, and he sits beside Barty, tucking a cigarette between his lips. "I guess looks can be deceiving." He lights the cigarette and inhales deeply.

The smoke ought to bother Barty, but there's something warm and pleasant about it, and he wants to be enveloped by the robust, minty smell. His eyes close. A slight smile plays at his lips. "Why are _you _up here?" he asks.

Regulus shrugs. "Just needed some fresh air."

"So, you can ruin it with smoke?" Barty chuckles. "Makes sense."

Regulus' smirk falters, replaced by an amused smile. "Touché. Now, what are you doing here?"

Barty swallows drylyl. How can he explain to a complete stranger that he feels so out of place? Oh, he's a brilliant student, and he's top of their year, but he feels like he doesn't belong. Some nights, he comes to the Astronomy Tower, praying for the courage to throw himself over the railing. At least he would be free, then.

But he can't say that. Not to a complete stranger, not to anyone.

"Sometimes I just need to get away," he says instead.

Regulus exhales a cloud of smoke. "I get like that too."

…

It becomes a habit for them. Most nights, they find one another at the Astronomy Tower. Each moment brings more understanding.

Barty doesn't understand why his father would say the Blacks are such a terrible family. Despite his cold reputation, he is one of the kindest people Barty has ever met.

Barty has never had friends before. Truthfully, he doesn't know if he can consider Regulus a friend. All he knows is that Hogwarts feels a little less lonely with him around.

ii.

They sit in silence together. Barty enjoys these moments of quiet solitude. It's a small comfort to know he doesn't have to fill every moment with some sort of noise for the sake of preventing awkwardness. The silence is natural, and he might even go so far as to call it comfortable.

Regulus exhales, and grey-white smoke fills the air, juxtaposed against the inky black sky. It's his third cigarette in the past hour. Barty wonders if he should say anything. He doesn't, of course; whatever he has with Regulus is so delicate, and he's so scared that even the smallest touch might break it.

"Have you ever wanted to run away?" Regulus asks.

Barty swallows dryly. Why does it feel like a trap, like there's no right answer? His bright eyes flicker to the tower's railing, and he's reminded of exactly why he comes up here almost every night. "All the time," he admits.

"What are you running from?"

Barty bites the inside of his cheek until he can taste the faint metallic tang of blood. Can he really trust Regulus to open up to? What would happen if he took that leap of faith and allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a moment?

He's held these secrets for so long. Everyone believes his father is a good man, but no one has seen him beyond closed doors. They haven't seen his blazing fury or his cold neglect and apathy. He doubts that anyone would believe him or understand.

Except maybe Regulus. There's something about Regulus that's so easy to trust. And so, head leaning back and wide eyes fixed upon the stars above, he talks.

It feels so strange. Despite his own anger toward his father, talking about it, giving his demons a voice, feels like an act of betrayal. And yet, somehow, it feels so right. Someone needs to know that the great Barty Crouch Sr. is a terrible father who switches between smacking his teenage son around and yelling abuse at him, and locking him in his room for days at a time with no comfort other than his beloved books. His father is a bastard, and Barty has often fantasized about killing the old man; he doesn't voice this, of course.

Regulus listens quietly, lips drawn into a frown. He's been so invested in Barty's tale that he hasn't bothered with his cigarette, and it has been reduced to a long line of ash that clings desperately to a filter. He seems to notice; he flicks a nail over the filter, letting the ash drift down to the ground below.

"I want to run away from my family sometimes too," he says softly.

"Why? Blacks are practically royalty. Everyone knows that."

Regulus laughs, revealing pearly with teeth in the expression. "Yeah. I think maybe that's the problem."

…

They shouldn't work. Really, it's a miracle. But they slowly get closer, and Barty realizes they have more in common than he could have ever thought possible.

Still, it's terrifying. He's never felt so close to anyone until now. Butterflies tickle his insides, and he's so afraid he's going to break.

He doesn't understand it, and it isn't until he talks to the librarian and finds a book to research his feelings, that it slowly begins to make sense.

According to the book, he is falling in love with Regulus Black.

Barty doesn't think he's ready for the trouble that will cause.

iii.

Their first night back for their fourth year, Regulus is all anger and fire when he joins Barty atop the Astronomy Tower. "What did your father do to you?" he demands.

Barty swallows dryly. He's tried so hard to hide the bruises, but maybe he's slipped up. Or maybe Regulus is just good at noticing things. Whatever the reason, Barty knows he cannot lie.

"How did you know something happened?" he asks.

"I saw the two of you at the station today. Your sleeve slipped, and he looked furious." Regulus lights his cigarette. "You've already told me about the abuse. It wasn't hard to piece it together."

"It's just his temper again," Barty says, and he hates the way it sounds like an excuse. Then again, excuses and denial are spoken so fluently in the Crouch household, and it comes so naturally to him.

"He shouldn't do that to you," Regulus insists.

Barty looks away, too ashamed to look into Regulus' eyes. He clears his throat, awkwardly adjusting the collar of his shirt. "It's nothing," he says. "Really. I've had worse."

He can handle the violence. It's the silence that kills him the most. He's been tearing himself apart, trying so desperately to follow his father's footsteps, but he knows he will never manage it. No matter how clever Barty is, Barty Sr was so much more.

Regulus crushes his cigarette and tucks the filter in his pocket. He reaches out, his hand brushing over Barty's. "I worry about you."

Barty's shivers at the touch. He's tried to tuck his feelings away and pretend they don't exist, but it's so damn hard when Regulus is this close to him and touching him.

"Why would you worry about me?" Barty asks, voice barely audible.

Regulus chuckles and moves closer. "For someone so clever, you really are a dumbass," he says. "You know that, right?"

Before Barty can say anything, he feels Regulus' slender fingers tangle in his hair. He's pulled closer until their lips meet. Regulus tastes like nicotine and bad decisions, but Barty thinks that maybe he loves it.

"I've wanted to do that for a while," Regulus admits when they pull away.

Barty nods. "Me too."

"Wanna do it again?"

…

Things change after that night. There's no doubt left in Barty's mind. He and Regulus have something beautiful, something special. For once in his life, he doesn't have to wonder if he's wanted or loved by anyone other than his mother.

He is Regulus', and Regulus is his. Still, the most glorious part is knowing his father would lose his mind if he knew.

iv.

The silence is tense, and Barty doesn't like it. They're sixteen now, and it should be easy to be around one another. They've done this for years.

Regulus lights up his fifth cigarette, puffing away. Something is bothering him, but Barty doesn't know how to approach it or if he should. Regulus likes to keep to himself and only talk as much as necessary. He says that giving too much away is handing the enemy a detailed battle map with perfect attack ports.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Barty asks, voice quivering.

Silence. Regulus narrows his eyes, sucking on the filter a little harder. The cigarette paper crackles as it catches, and the familiar scent of smoke fills the air.

"I received the Mark."

Barty doesn't have to ask. He's heard enough whispers whenever his father assumes he isn't around. Bellatrix Lestrange, Regulus' cousin, had taken the Mark. Barty's father had wondered when one of the younger Blacks would follow in their cousin's footsteps.

"Don't hate me."

"I never could."

And he means it. Over the years, Barty has come to love Regulus so purely and deeply that even news like this cannot shake him. He is surprised, but he will not abandon his lover for anything.

This isn't the life he would have chosen for Regulus, but it's out of his hands. All he can do is stand by Regulus' side and let him know that he will support him, no matter what.

He pulls the Slytherin closer, and their lips meet. The menthol and tobacco on Regulus' tongue is so familiar, so comforting, and Barty never wants to let go. He has to, of course. As much as he wishes otherwise, they cannot stay like this for.

"I love you," Barty says.

Regulus smiles. "I love you too."

…

He can feel something shift between them. In the back of his mind, Barty can't help thinking of how very wrong it is. His father has taught him that Death Eaters are filth and scum, and that they don't deserve to be free.

And yet he knows Regulus. He loves Regulus. Regulus isn't evil.

Besides, why should he care what his father thinks? He's spent his whole life living in the old man's shadow, and it's smothering him. He wants out; he wants a way to be free.

And maybe, just maybe, he knows what to do.

v.

"I want to join you," Barty says. "I want to take on the Mark."

It has taken him months to summon the courage to say it, but now the words are out, and there's no taking them back.

The cigarette dangling lazily from Regulus' lips falls, and he quickly snatches it up, fitting the filter between his lips once again. "This isn't a game," he says, his voice stern and deadly serious. "This is war."

"I'm aware."

Regulus shakes his head, dark hair whipping against his pale face. "It's dangerous."

Barty nods. He thinks he knows the risks better than almost anyone. Sometimes, when his father hadn't thought anyone was around, Barty could overhear little snippets of information. Being a Death Eater means putting your life on the line, and maybe he's okay with that.

Regulus slumps, shoulders slack and clearly defeated. "Fine," he says. "But you know you deserve so much more. Look at how bright your future could be."

He already knows. After receiving their exam results, there aren't any careers that aren't open to him. He could be anything at all in the world, but he only wants to be Regulus'.

"I know the risks," Barty says. "But I'll be okay as long as I have you."

Regulus reaches out and takes Barty's hand. "You'll always have me."

…

He's afraid, if he's honest. Although he's reasoned with himself and made this seem like a good idea, he still has his doubts. He doesn't share the same blood purity prejudices as the others, and that seems like something that will work against him in the long run.

Still, he is loyal above all else, and he knows he would follow Regulus to his doom.


End file.
